


apprehension

by khayr



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bad Dreams, F/M, Ficlet, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khayr/pseuds/khayr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes.” It’s a half-lie, and the way her voice breaks gives her away entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apprehension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anarchyinplasma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchyinplasma/gifts).



> Anarchyinplasma was inspired by one of my fics, so I decided to throw one right back sort-of inspired by one of theirs!! Keep fighting the good fight my fellow ozglyn friend P: 
> 
> some vague pre-season 3 foreshadowing maybe????

Even though it’s been years since she’s taken a mission out in the field, Glynda finds it impossible to shake the nightmares that sometimes linger. To fight the Grimm head on is one thing, but to sleep alone in the night as they prowl past on their own search is another thing entirely. The sinking, suffering feeling of being hunted herself while trying to catch even an hour of rest has never left her.   
  
On the occasions she wakes in the middle of the night it’s often like she never left the dark recesses of the wild. Nights like these are filled with the hazy memory of a sleeping dragon, hidden for now but certainly not forgotten. It’s always her and Ozpin trapped in the shadows, occasionally with the others at their backs… and everything always ends in fire and ichor and  _ death _ . What they’ve painstakingly built is gone and Beacon burns, burns, burns.   
  
Glynda runs her hands down her face as she slowly sits up in bed, the uncomfortable prickle at the back of her neck- like she’s being watched- refusing to fade. She heaves a slow, shuddering breath to steady herself, her hand dropping on reflex to feel for the solid lump of Ozpin’s sleeping body beside her.   
  
“Glyn?” His voice is muffled and drowsy when he stirs and speaks, his face still buried in the pillow. “Everything alright?”   
  
“Yes.” It’s a half-lie, and the way her voice breaks gives her away entirely.    
  
He says nothing in response. There are no words when the night is long and the shadows cast by Grimm tucked back in memory are even longer. Ozpin settles for simply slinging his arm over her waist and tugging her back into the mess of sheets with a sleepy grumble.    
  
After a moment Glynda concedes and curls against him, tucking her head under his chin for once with a slow, wet sigh. There’s no other sound in the room besides Ozpin’s steady breathing and the quiet ticking of a clock, and she silently wishes for some other sort of noise to fill the gap. The quiet invites unwelcome thoughts in the dreary hours before dawn, and all she wants is just to  _ sleep _ .   
  
Glynda’s arm snakes around to Ozpin’s back, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her hand. It’s enough. He’s still warm and solid and  _ real _ , and she holds onto that in an attempt to chase the rest of the nightmares out. This close to him Glynda can smell coffee and oak, plus that indescribable scent of his like old books and worn leather. It’s comforting and familiar, and she uses that as the distraction she needs to ease her mind.   
  
Sleep creeps in on her peripherals, and although it’s welcome now she can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s not meant to forget this one so easily.


End file.
